


The Only True Language

by whatsherquirk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 20 Questions, Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad French, Banter, Bedroom Sex, Begging, Clubbing, Condoms, Dancing, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, In more ways than one, Jean is a gentleman in a black turtleneck, Making Out, Moaning, Oral Sex, Public Display of Affection, Semi-Public Sex, Stranger Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Uber driver Hannes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 20:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsherquirk/pseuds/whatsherquirk
Summary: Jean smirks again. “So they won’t mind if I ask you to dance?”Alcohol pulses in your veins, the dull thrum of it in your ears just perceptible over the music. You like this guy—you like his attitude, the vibes he’s giving off, and his appearance doesn’t hurt either. You could stand around and chat longer, and you’re almost certain you’d enjoy it, but you’re in a club, and the music is decent, and if things go well, there will be time to get to know each other later. Right now, you want to touch him, and you’re bold enough to put a hand on his waist when you answer, “Only if you ask in French.”He sets his empty beer bottle down on the bar and slides out of his blazer, tossing it over one arm. “Veux-tu danser avec moi?”--Girls' night takes a turn when your friends split up in a fancy nightclub you didn't plan to go to in the first place. That's when you meet Jean, a handsome stranger from across the bar.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Reader, Jean Kirstein/You
Comments: 22
Kudos: 133





	The Only True Language

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on my tumblr. I used Google translate for the French, native French speakers please don't judge me.

You’re excited to get into the club, mostly because it’s cold standing outside in your little dress and heels. You wonder if it wasn’t a coincidence when Hitch talked you out of wearing jeans and flats to girls’ night—if maybe she’d planned to drag you out dancing after hopping a couple bars. At the door, she drops Marlowe’s name, the guy she’s been seeing, who texted her to meet him here, and you and your three closest girlfriends are ushered through the door.

You can feel the music through the floor when you step into the main room. It gives off a classy vibe; this is not the kind of place where your shoes will stick to the floor. The decor is mainly black and purple, illuminated by blue and purple neon lights embedded into pillars and the floor. The bar, also illuminated in blue, lines the far side of the dance floor, and a DJ spins records at the front of the room. Booths and tables line the other two sides of the dance floor, most of them already occupied.

Your group quickly splinters: Hitch runs off to find her beau while Annie and Mikasa want to go dance. You tell them you’ll find them after you hit up the bar. You’ve been drinking for a few hours, alternating between alcohol and water, so you’re comfortably buzzed, but you’d like another drink in you before you dive into the crowd of sweaty, albeit well-dressed, bodies. It takes some bobbing and weaving to make it across the room, but soon enough, you have your stomach pressed up against the bar, waiting for the bartender’s attention.

As you tap the corner of your credit card against the polished wood in front of you, you get that uncanny feeling that someone is looking at you. Nervously, you play with a piece of hair by your ear before glancing around. While trying not to be too obvious, you spot a man out of the corner of your eye, and he’s staring. You only catch a quick glimpse of him—longish, tawny hair and an equally long, pointed chin—before the bartender swings by again and catches your attention.

You order your drink, which is swiftly placed in your hand, but you can’t help but sneak another peek at him. He’s leaning one elbow on the bar while another guy is talking to him, but as you take in his narrow eyes, the slope of his nose, the broad shoulders under his charcoal jacket, it’s as if he feels your gaze on him too. His eyes flick up, and he smirks at you just before you turn away, flustered at being caught staring.

It’s too packed to take your drink out on the dance floor; you’ll just end up with it all over your dress, so you slide to one side of the bar and lean against it while you sip. The polished wood is cool against your back, exposed by the low cut of your dress. You keep your eyes on the dance floor, watching for Annie and Mikasa even though they’re probably toward the middle of the floor by now. With lips wrapped around your straw, you check your phone, pulling it from the little chain strap cross-body you’re wearing.

Your group chat is lit up, starting with a text from Hitch— _found him, don’t wait up_. So much for girls’ night.

Judging by the replies, the others aren’t too bothered at being ditched. _Have fun, be safe,_ writes Mikasa. _If we don’t find any half-decent guys in here, at least we can just grind up on each other_ , texts Annie.

You hit the last sip of your cocktail, which is mostly water anyway, and you set the short glass down on the bar as you tuck your phone away. You hadn’t planned on picking up guys tonight—you had actually been banking on ending the night with fast food and crashing on Annie’s couch. But if everyone else was on the prowl, that kind of left you no choice, unless you wanted to dance alone or call an Uber and go home. Something inside you flutters as you glance to the far end of the bar again. Maybe if that guy is still there—

“Hey, you want another one of those?”

You jolt at the sudden direct address then realize it’s exactly the guy you were looking for. Somehow, he managed to slip around and appear from behind you, probably while you were texting. He leans against the bar beside you, a charming smirk on his lips, fingers wrapped around the top of your empty cocktail glass. He was already attractive from far away, but up close, he’s stunning.

You give him a quick glance up and down. “Yeah, thanks.” You’re glad he didn’t order a drink and bring it to you; you can watch and make sure he doesn’t put anything in it. He’s not giving off any creepy vibes, thankfully, but you can’t be too careful.

It’s hard not to stare as he waves the bartender down and orders another round for the two of you. He’s super tall, the bar looking almost too short as he leans up against it. He’s dressed in a thin, almost clingy black turtleneck, straight black pants, and black boots, all underneath a long gray blazer. When the bartender comes back with another cocktail for you and a bottle of beer for him, he doesn’t even touch your glass, just hands over his credit card and covers the bill.

He takes a long swig from his beer, leaving it up to you to either carry on the conversation or let it die. You don’t want him to go anywhere, so you stick out your hand for a shake, introduce yourself, and ask for his name.

“It’s Jean,” he says, leaning a little closer to your ear so you can hear him over the music.

“Very French,” you comment.

He laughs. “Thanks, I think.” You both sip on your drinks for a beat.

“Are you actually French?” It seems like a more interesting conversation than asking him what he does for a living, so you roll with it.

He smiles around the lip of his bottle. “My mom is. She grew up there.”

“Cool. Do you speak the language at all?”

He lifts a hand and waves it in a _so-so_ gesture. “ _Oui un petit peu._ ”

You can’t tell if he’s being modest or if this is just an easy sentence, but the way the words roll off his tongue in a legitimate-sounding accent makes your stomach flutter. “Very nice.”

“So… are you here with anyone?” His tone is interested, leading—he’s asking you if you’re single, or here on a date. Again, you appreciate him not being pushy with you, simply opening doors but allowing you to be the one to step through them.

“Just some friends.”

He hums affirmatively, glancing over each shoulder. “Let me guess, they’re right behind me, ready to kick my ass if they need to?” he teases.

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Actually, no. One went off with a guy and the other two are out on the floor somewhere.” You finish your cocktail in one more gulp, shivering a little as your buzz starts to return.

Jean smirks again. “So they won’t mind if I ask you to dance?”

Alcohol pulses in your veins, the dull thrum of it in your ears just perceptible over the music. You like this guy—you like his attitude, the vibes he’s giving off, and his appearance doesn’t hurt either. You could stand around and chat longer, and you’re almost certain you’d enjoy it, but you’re in a club, and the music is decent, and if things go well, there will be time to get to know each other later. Right now, you want to touch him, and you’re bold enough to put a hand on his waist when you answer, “Only if you ask in French.”

He sets his empty beer bottle down on the bar and slides out of his blazer, tossing it over one arm. _“Veux-tu danser avec moi?”_

“ _Oui.”_

Jean puts a hand lightly to the small of your back as the two of you make your way toward the dance floor. He stops only for a moment to hand off his jacket to his friend, a guy with a grayish buzzcut. Your heels click against the translucent tiles of the dance floor, blue light glowing through them and pulsating to the beat of the song—an upbeat, pop/R&B hit from more than a decade ago.

You lead Jean to a good spot on the floor: not so far into the crowd that you’re stuck there (not to mention sweat to death), but far enough that you’re surrounded by people, giving you a backwards sense of faux privacy. He settles in front of you, and you let him get close as you start to sway, finding the rhythm of the song in your feet. He mirrors you, bouncing a bit from hip to hip, and you’re pleasantly surprised that he can move. Too many times, guys in these places have asked you to dance only to stand there with their hands in their pockets until you pushed your ass up against them.

Jean slides his large hands into yours, pulling them up from your sides to swing them between you. You start to twist back and forth, pumping your arms in tandem with his before he rolls his hips. The way he moves is seductive, sparking scandalous thoughts in your brain, like what else he can do with his hips. You can’t help but stare; with his jacket off, it’s clear how broad his shoulders are, how small his waist is, and it almost makes you salivate. When your eyes flick from his body up to his face, bathed in the moody blue light from the floor, he grins smugly and licks his lips, lifting one arm to actually spin you around on your toes.

He pulls you closer and pushes you away for another verse, playing with you like a cat with a mouse, before you drop his hands and grab him by the belt instead. Your fingers hook under the leather and pull, dragging him closer until you’re pressed against the front of him. His damn turtleneck is so thin you can feel his abs through it, the ridges rubbing against you as he wraps his hands around your lower back and snakes his hips against you. You can’t help but sigh a little too desperately, unsure if he can hear you over the music or not

Your head is just fuzzy enough for you to lose yourself in the motions. Your purse bounces against your back as you move, but you’re glad you don’t have to juggle a stupid clutch bag in your hands. You anchor yourself with two hands on the back of Jean’s neck while you bump against each other for another song. You don’t hold back when he leans in so your breasts press against his chest; the friction is divine. You don’t care that you’re starting to sweat and your breaths are getting heavier. Jean’s panting against you too, his hands digging into your hips. With one foot in between yours, he guides you in a figure-eight motion that rubs your crotch against his thigh, building heat that’s about to drive you crazy.

When the song changes to a slower R&B jam, Jean easily spins you around, and you let him. You’re warm and loose and craving his body against your ass. You push your hips back, your skirt inching up your thighs as he grips your waist and grinds into you. You wish the song was faster, the beat pumping harder, but it’ll have to do for now. Even in the sea of swaying bodies, it feels like it’s just the two of you and the music.

You can feel Jean’s breath tumble down your exposed neck and back as he holds you close. Everything about him feels good—his chest, his hands, the slightest hint of hardness beneath the cool metal of his belt buckle. It’s impossible not to arch your lower back, pushing your ass firmly into his crotch, and you swear you hear him groan. He slams your hips against him and grinds. You feel the imprint of his cock through his tailored pants, and your stomach flutters, your hands and wrists tingle, your mouth waters. God, you want him so bad.

When the song changes again, his hands drop to the tops of your thighs, and he bends at the knees to better curl himself around you. You feel a literal drop of sweat fall from your temple, but it doesn’t matter. Your breath hitches sharply when Jean kisses you behind your ear, his hands twitching against your legs. You squat a little lower, arch your back harder, all while he tucks his chin over your shoulder to look down at how you move together. Your head falls back against his chest when you feel his cock twitch between your thighs, and you can’t take it anymore.

Not giving a damn who can see, you twist your neck to look up at him, only to find his blown pupils staring back at you. He lets go of your leg with one hand to cup your chin instead, then cranes his neck to kiss you, lips slotting sideways against yours. Your tongue darts out to taste him, beer and mint and sweat, and you moan in your throat. This is getting risky, too erotic—you need to get out of here before you get _kicked_ out.

You reach up to touch his cheek as you twist your body around to face him once again. Indulgently, you peck his lips one more time before pulling down on his shoulder to speak into his ear. “Do you wanna go somewhere?”

He takes you by the lower back once more, lacing the fingers of his other hand with one of yours. “My place isn’t far. Is that ok?”

You nod and drag him off the dance floor, sweaty hands clinging to each other. “I’ll order an Uber,” he says, heading toward his friend presumably to collect his jacket and say goodbye. You realize you should text the group chat so the girls know you’re leaving, but when you open up your messages, you find they’re one step ahead of you.

Annie has sent the group a grainy picture of you with your back against Jean, knees bent and hands placed on top of his on your hips. _Have fun tonight_ she captioned it. Mikasa sent a winky face. Hitch hasn’t responded, but she’s probably busy in some VIP lounge somewhere.

_Going back to his, I’ll call if anything gets sketchy_ is your reply. You’re pretty sure you can trust him, just a gut feeling, but you feel better with them knowing where you’re going, and you’ll share your location when you get there.

“Told you they want to kick my ass.” Jean slides up behind you, phone in hand with the Uber app open. He peers down over your shoulder before you can swipe the picture away, your face heating in embarrassment.

You shove your phone back in your bag. “They’re just teasing me, actually.”

Jean grins. “Well, as long as you’re still ok with it, looks like our ride is here. Did you check a coat?” When you shake your head, he holds out his blazer for you. “Here, put this on, it’s chilly.”

He ushers you outside and up to an idling blue sedan, the long sleeve of his jacket pushed up so he can hold your hand. A middle-aged guy with short blonde hair and a thin mustache rolls down the window. “Jean?” He asks.

“That’s me. You’re Hannes?”

“Yup. Hop in.”

Once you’re both buckled into the back, the driver confirms with Jean where he’s taking you. Jean’s hand snakes between your knees while he tells Hannes where to go and where to park when he gets there, and soon enough the car peels away from the curb.

“I got waters and some granola bars back there if you guys need any.” Hannes keeps his eyes on the road, which is good not only because he’s driving but also because Jean leans in to slowly kiss your neck. He can only be so quiet, the soft, wet sounds of his mouth unmistakable, but just as you start to squirm, Hannes turns the music up a little louder. Whether for your benefit or his own is unclear, but he doesn’t say anything.

You relax a bit into Jean’s kisses, which slowly trail from your neck to your mouth. You’re positive your driver knows what’s going on—he’d be an idiot not to—but you can’t resist opening your mouth for Jean, letting him slip his tongue in and explore. He tastes so good, feels so warm and firm and playful and erotic, that you just can’t bear to stop him. You ought to be embarrassed about making out so blatantly in the back of a taxi, but the shame only ignites your desire.

Jean pulls away only by millimeters, whispering against your lips. “You like this? You want people to see me kissing you? Naughty girl. _Méchante fille._ ” You can only sigh and hum in affirmation, afraid to say more but aroused by the thrill of Jean’s hand creeping up your leg.

Hannes turns down the radio a few clicks. “Two minutes,” he warns. You jump back from Jean instinctually, smoothing your dress and hair as if your mother is about to catch you in such an indecent situation. Jean crawls his hand up your arm to the back of your neck, where he rests his fingertips softly until Hannes pulls up to his apartment complex.

It’s one of the nicer buildings in a really nice neighborhood, and you can tell just by the outside that this place is classy. You pull out your phone and send the group chat your location in about a second flat, eager to get inside. As you unbuckle and slide out of the car, Hannes shoots you a look, a reassuring smile that says both _‘don’t worry, I’m used to it’_ and _‘if this guy is a creep, just tell me and I’ll fucking choke him.’_ You offer a shy smile and nod in return, cheeks burning.

Jean taps on his phone for a few seconds before hopping out of the back seat and leaning down to the driver’s side window. “Thanks so much, man. Tipped you 30%.”

Hannes literally winks at him. “Thanks, dude. Be safe and have fun, you crazy kids.” You hear the car pull away, off to the next job. You’re glad you got someone like Hannes as your driver, but for your own pride’s sake, you hope you never see him again.

Jean leads you through the front door and into a lobby where every surface is gilded or glass. In your tipsy, lustful haze, you can’t help but think this place is fancy as hell. His apartment is a short elevator ride away, which you spend wrapped around his arm, gazing at the reflection of Jean with his arm around you in the mirrored wall.

The elevator doors open to a very short hallway, and you follow him to apartment 5B and he lets you inside. You get a quick glance around the living area while Jean locks the door behind you, just a moment to take in the leather furniture, granite countertops, and massive DVD collection before his hands are on you again. He spins you by the waist to face him, and you’re eager to tilt your chin up and let him descend on your lips again. For a moment, everything is still, locked in your embrace in the dark of his living room, but when you draw a deep breath in through your nose and deepen the kiss, Jean pulls back.

Your stomach drops when he leans his forehead against yours and mumbles, “Um.” This is where it ends, you’re sure. He changed his mind, and it’s fine, it’s really fine. He rubs your arms and chews his lip, but just as you’re about to call the whole thing off so he doesn’t have to, he speaks. “I feel like I should be honest. I don’t usually… do this.”

“Oh.” It’s not what you were expecting, but at least this seems to be a _him_ problem, not a _you_ problem. You take a step back so you can actually see him while you’re talking to him. “It’s ok. I can just get a ride home and—”

“No! I… wait.” Jean shakes his head. “I didn’t mean I don’t want to… with you. I do, I _really_ do.” When you tilt your head at him, he goes on. “It’s just that we hardly got to talk. Not that I didn’t enjoy the dancing, it was hot as hell, but I’d rather get to know you first, at least a little bit.”

He steps forward, putting a hand to the side of your neck, which you can’t help but turn your face to nuzzle into. “I just don’t know if I can keep my hands off you long enough to.”

You can’t help but be taken aback. Who would have guessed he was nervous underneath all that sly confidence? But the longer you think about it, it’s actually endearing, incredibly attractive even, that he wants to know you better before he gets in your pants. The doubt in the pit of your stomach is replaced by a nervous fluttering, and you stare at his lips for just a beat too long. You get what he means about wanting to talk just as bad as he wants to touch, and it gives you an idea.

“How about we start on the couch and play twenty questions until we can’t stand it anymore?” You lift onto your toes to peck his lips, and he laughs.

“Deal.”

You slide out of his jacket, step out of your heels, and kick them to the side. Your feet lower to the floor, and Jean’s tall frame only seems bigger. The height difference is less apparent, however, as you sink down onto his sofa together. You tuck your knees up under you as you curl against his side, his feet planted on the rug and knees spread in a comfortable lounging position. He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck. “So who wants to start?”

“Mmm,” he hums, reaching to caress your shoulder and draw you close again. “You start.”

“What do you do to afford a place like this?” You blurt out unceremoniously. When you realize how brazen that sounds, you try to soften it with another wet kiss to his neck.

Jean shudders and sighs. “Corporate law.”

“I’ve heard that’s kind of soul-sucking.” Another peck, this time to the edge of his softly stubbled jaw.

Jean exhales slowly.

“It’s not that bad. The company I’m with isn’t totally evil though, so that might make a difference.”

“What do they do?”

Your fingertips find his collarbones, sliding across his chest as you continue to ravage his neck.

Jean’s head falls back against the sofa, his chest slowly rising and falling as he tries to focus. “Green energy… basically they sell solar panels and stuff like that to other corporations and help them achieve sustainability goals.”

“Not bad. Ok, your turn.”

He leans forward and kisses you hungrily, sloppier than he was at the club and at least twice as desperate. When he pulls back, you can’t help but chuckle.

“I meant your turn to ask a question.”

He licks his lips. “I know.”

Jean moves closer, left arm resting on the back of the couch beside you while his right hand finds your hip.

“Do you like your job?”

He rubs over your hip as he leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Yeah. I’m a physical therapist. I like helping people rehabilitate.”

You pull his mouth to yours by his chin.

“I should have known you were a saint.”

Jean’s tongue slips into your mouth and twirls.

“Far from it, but thanks. Hmm. Do you like dogs?”

You purse your lips and suck on his tongue.

“I’m more of a cat person. Do you have siblings?”

You give your answer. “Do you?”

Your nails drag through his shaggy hair.

“Only child.”

He inhales sharply when you kiss him hard, pushing him back into the couch cushions. His eyes are half lidded as he decides on his next question.

“Were you planning to go home with someone tonight?”

He strokes the side of your face, thumb coming to rest against your earlobe.

“No. It was supposed to be girls’ night.”

You roll onto your knees on the sofa. Jean reaches for your lower back and pressed you closer.

“Are your friends going to be mad you left with me?”

“No. Besides, Hitch left us first. And that was two questions, cheater.”

You stretch one knee across his legs and lower yourself into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“My bad.”

He tilts his chin up and parts his lips for another kiss. You can’t resist, and you kiss him deeper. When you pull back, a string of saliva snaps between your mouths.

“You said you don’t usually take people home from bars. Why not?”

Jean’s eyes are closed as he drags you down to his lips again, his breath warm when they connect with yours again.

“I tend to get attached. Bad habit. Plus, I usually assume people aren’t interested in the first place, but I caught you staring, so…”

You kiss him again to shut him up. When you rise up on your knees, his head tilts back over the top of the sofa, and his hands roam over your thighs.

“Bedroom?” he slurs against your lips. You take that as his final question.

“Please.”

You stand together without breaking the kiss, your nails buried in the soft, stretchy fabric of his shirt. The way Jean hums and wraps his arms all the way around you, enveloping you, sends heat all the way to your bare feet. You cling to his shoulders, an animal impulse to just _climb_ him rushing over you. One knee lifts, and you wrap your leg as high around his hip as you can. He catches you under your thigh and you jump into his waiting arms, locking your legs around his waist.

He carries you down the hall to the master bedroom, still kissing you when he sits down on the side of his bed with you in his lap. You crawl onto your knees and melt into him, cupping his face as your tongue traces the straight line of his teeth. When you lift up, Jean takes the opportunity to land both hands on your ass and squeeze, releasing a deep groan he probably didn’t intend in the process. It does nothing but spur you on, your legs spreading wider as you push him down flat onto the mattress. As arousing as it was to kiss and touch him in front of people, you’re even more excited to do it alone in the dim light of his bedroom.

Anticipation burns in your stomach as Jean pushes the hem of your dress up and over your hips. He kneads at your ass and thighs, squeezing whatever part of you he can reach while you straddle him. You’re obsessed with kissing him, learning the exact firmness and contours of his mouth second by second. Nearly overwhelmed, you can’t decide where to touch him, hands flitting between his face, his shoulders, his tousled hair. Your back arches, forcing your pelvis down against his, that delicious stiffness in his pants returning again. You can’t remember the last time you were so turned on by somebody, finding it so easy to just listen to what your body wants, but maybe it wants too much all at once. You need him to take control.

“Jean, please,” you sigh, and it’s unbelievable that you just met—that you barely know him—because despite your vague request, he seems to understand just what you need. Jean toes off his boots before bringing his feet up on the bed, using them as leverage to flip you over. Lying sideways across the mattress, your ankles dangle off the side of the bed as he scrambles on top of you. He kisses your neck and your head swims, lost in the heat of his mouth against your skin.

“You like this, baby?” His lips slide over your throat, forming the words around languid kisses that make you gasp for breath.

“Yes,” you whine, balling your fists in the back of his shirt and pulling it untucked from his trousers. Fingers splayed, you rub your hands over his lower back, the skin hot and clammy. Jean sighs, licking over the corner of your jaw before sitting up on his knees and pulling his shirt up over his head. His sculpted pecs jump slightly as he raises his arms, his body rippling all the way down to his lower stomach. The snug turtleneck fills his hair with static electricity when he yanks it off, making you both laugh before he runs a hand through his locks to smooth it back down. The laugh dies in your throat when you spy the soft trail of hair that disappears under his waistband and you imagine what’s waiting for you under a few more layers of fabric.

Jean grins, catching you staring before running a hand up your inner thigh. “What else do you like?” he teases, fingertips just barely tracing over the crotch of your panties. You can’t help but jerk at such a soft touch, your hips and knees lifting as he ghosts over your most sensitive spot. “You like being touched here?”

You nod and gulp back the saliva building up in your mouth. “Yes, please.” You’re about to wiggle out of your dress, but with your permission, Jean traces a heavy finger up the length of your folds. You throw your head back and gasp, your cunt buzzing to life under his touch. He merely chuckles, mouth closed in a crooked smile, and watches himself circle your clit once, twice, three times as you tremble for him. You can see the lust on his face, heart racing at the way his tongue pokes out between his lips when he hooks fingers in the elastic and pulls your panties down to your knees.

Eyes closed and whimpering, you’re just getting used to Jean stroking between your folds when he plunges two fingers inside. You moan loudly and lewdly, your abdominal muscles clenching hard as he shallowly thrusts in and out of your heat. Jean moans too, watching as you wet his pumping fingers. When he curls his knuckles inside you, your slick dripping out of you, his thumb swipes over your clit, and you scream.

“Fuck,” he swears, breath stuttering as he taps the bud again, and again, and again. Your knees curl up toward your chest, every muscle below your waist tightening against your will. You’re panting for breath by the time Jean pulls his fingers out, swiping them down your slit before wiping them quickly on your thighs. As he starts climbing off the bed and settling between your legs, he asks, “Can I eat you out?”

You suck in enough breath to answer, “Yeah,” and quickly lift up to rip your dress off over your head. With such a low cut back, you couldn’t wear a bra with it, and Jean’s brows knit together at the sight of your breasts bouncing back against you when you lie back down.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he groans. You whine in response, high praise coming from someone with a model physique and the face to match. Jean crouches at the side of the bed–the frame raised higher off the floor that usual, you noticed, probably because he’s so tall that it’d be harder for him to stand up in the morning otherwise. You yelp as he pulls your hips down to the edge of the bed and leans in to taste you tongue-first.

You hiss and moan as he licks long, desperate stripes up your pussy, his tongue flat against you. Your bent knees fall wider, feet resting on his shoulders, as Jean uses one hand to spread you open so he can prod at your hole with the tip of his tongue. He hums into you, the vibrations rattling you inside, encouraging your hips to grind up into his open mouth. Between the sucking and swirling, Jean looking up at you through heavy eyelids, the only thing you feel is need. You need him so bad, you could scream.

“Fuck, fuck, Jean, please. No more teasing.” You’re begging before you realize it, and it does something to him, shifting the delicate balance you’ve been hanging in. He licks you one more time, tongue pressed hard against your cunt, before standing up and undoing his belt.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. He always asks. With his belt buckle dangling loose, Jean unzips his pants and practically tosses them away.

“Yes.”

He gives you a coy look as he pulls off his boxer briefs. You get your first good look at his cock, long and veiny, as it slaps back against his stomach. Your mouth practically waters. It doesn’t seem like he’s interested in giving you the chance to suck it though; not right now, when you’re already spread and soaking for him. It only takes him a moment to reach into a drawer at his bedside, tear open a condom he finds inside, and slip it on. Before you can wriggle up to put your head on the pillows, he steps between your legs and wraps them around his waist, tip prodding at your folds.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks again, folding over you to rest his hands on either side of your hips.

“Yes, yes,” you huff impatiently. You want him inside you. Now.

“I don’t even have to ask you in French first?” Oh. Now he’s just toying with you. You press your heels into his back, trying to push him inside you, but he holds back, tutting. Then he licks his lips. _“Puis-je te baiser?”_

_“Oui.”_ You can only assume it’s what he wants to hear, and you’re right.

Jean fists his cock, giving himself a few hard strokes as his jaw drops open before guiding the head to your folds. He collects a bit of slick on the tip, using his hand to coat the entire shaft. Tension bubbles in your stomach, and you feel hot, too hot, burning with lust for the man between your legs. You both take a deep breath as he lines himself up, and holding your thighs against his hips, he pushes inside with a moan.

He goes slow until he’s fully sheathed, throwing his head back when his hips meet your ass. “You’re squeezing me so tight already, babe.”

“Mmhmm.” You wiggle your hips a little, prompting him to start moving.

Jean holds your thighs as he thrusts, slowly to begin with. From his standing position, he has so much leverage, so much control over how and where he presses inside you. Sweat drips off his face and neck as he shifts his hips, changing the angle until he finds the spot that makes you arch and moan and clench harder still. His eyes roll when you squeeze him, making him swear and pant harder.

He leans forward, dropping your thighs so he can brace himself against the bed and thrust faster, harder, so hard that he pushes you up the bed and has to pull you back to the edge with a deep grunt. When you’re flush against his hips again, Jean lifts his head to look at you, and though you’re struggling to keep your eyes open with the way he’s filling you, you stare back as long as you can.

You’re close, can feel the strings inside you twisting and ready to snap, but you don’t want them to. You want this to last as long as possible. You want it again and again, you want him to be _yours_ , you think as you stare up helplessly at this man you barely know. You haven’t felt this good in ages, maybe ever. Jean fucks you like he already knows you.

He starts to babble as his hips stutter, strokes getting sloppier. “You feel so good, oh my god. I’m gonna cum. Ah, gonna cum.” You’re so wet he almost slips out of you, so he grabs you by the hips again, pinning you down to the bed as your orgasm starts to crest. The pressure builds in your stomach as you go lightheaded, nails ripping into the sheets on the bed as you scream his name and let the release take you over.

You’re floating, pulsing, vision whited out when Jean pushes your hips down and moans, grinding his hips as he climaxes. He holds you so tightly you’re worried you might bruise, but you’re too limp, too exhausted to do anything but let him use you to milk himself into the condom until finally, he pulls out and collapses sideways on the bed beside you.

It’s quiet in the bedroom as you catch your breath, coming down slowly side by side. You stick a hand out to stroke over Jean’s back until he finally rolls over onto his side to face you. He’s flushed, cheeks dusted a pretty pink, and though he’s tired, he gives you a breathy laugh. “Wow.”

You smile back. “Yeah, that was… wow.”

Jean puts a hand softly to your face, rubbing over your cheek with his thumb before pulling you in for lazy kisses. Every touch is so gentle, so affectionate while he holds you close. You nearly fall asleep before you remember to ask him where the bathroom is so you can pee and clean yourself up.

When you pad back into his bedroom, Jean is in pajama pants and no shirt, lounging against the pillows at his headboard. A folded t-shirt sits at the foot of the bed. You run your fingers over it–so soft. “Is this for me?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to just stay here tonight. I can call you a cab if you don’t want to, though.”

Your heart swells. He’s such a gentleman, not the type you usually meet in the club, but you get the feeling you might not need to pull any other guys onto the dance floor for a while. You’re nearly positive of it as you pull the oversized shirt over your head and crawl onto the bed and into Jean’s arms, resting your cheek against his chest. “No, I’ll stay. Thank you.”

“‘Course.” He snuggles into you, resting his head on top of yours. “So, I have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“What do you want for breakfast? I was thinking crepes.”

“Hmm. I’m more of a pancake kind of girl, myself.”

“Oh, well this is _definitely_ not going to work out, then, sorry.” That light, teasing tone of his is back again, and you giggle as he hugs you close.

“Maybe if you make a good enough crepe, you can change my mind.”

“I make the best crepes, actually.”

“Oh? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“There’s a lot we still don’t know about each other, apparently.” Jean kisses your temple, and you settle in against him.

“Well, we have at least until breakfast to find out.”

“Hopefully I can keep you around longer than just breakfast.”

You lean your head back for one more kiss. “I think you will.”


End file.
